Stone, Metal, Wood
by Imladviel
Summary: Woodrot was not like other trolls... Kerthan wished he were stronger. A story explaining the origins of Greymung's lodestone and Kerthan's magic spear. ElfQuest fanfic with no actual elves in it.


Stone, Metal, Wood

Woodrot lifted up his new spear, proud of the work of his hands. The spear was of strong wood, of the tree with the thick moss-green leaves and deep-reaching roots. Had trolls bothered to name trees, he would have called it oak. The point was steel, bright and sharp, strong and untarnishing. It was fastened to the wood with a thick leather cord.

Other trolls laughed at Woodrot and his spears. The young smith made good enough swords and axes, but for some strange reason preferred to wield a spear whenever he had the choice. It seemed foolish of him, since whenever troll battled troll, the most common weapons were axes and swords, or pickaxes and hammers if the fight began suddenly in the midst of their labours. And any of those four weapons could easily be used to cut a spear's shaft in two or shatter it to pieces. Whatever greater reach a spear had was lost as soon as the enemy noticed its wielder, who was then left weaponless, with nothing but a splintered piece of wood in his hands.

You put too much trust in things that rot, his father had told him when he named him Woodrot. His parents hadn't understood him, not even when he was a little mump. The bigger boys had bullied him, and he had ended up playing with his sisters. The boys' games were too rough for him. From the girls he learned different games.

There was one he thought of often. Stone, metal and wood, it was called and the girls used it in situations where boys would have solved it all by a fistfight. To decide whose suggestion was followed, whose game played, who went first, who got the biggest mushroom, two girls would put their right hands behind their backs, count to three, and raise the hands in front of them in one of the three positions. 'Stone' was a fist, 'Metal' was the index finger raised from the fist, symbolizing a blade, and 'Wood' was an open hand, the fingers spread to symbolize the branching roots of a tree. 'Stone' was better than 'metal' because it could blunt a blade, 'metal' was better than 'wood' since it could cut wood, and 'wood' was better than 'stone' because a tree's roots could shatter the hardest rock, little by little. In time.

Someday, Woodrot would show them all, the stoneheads who laughed at him. Someday. In time.

Tonight he would hunt with his new spear, and maybe he would fell a bear. Then it would be his turn to laugh.

Woodrot spoke a few words with the doorkeeper, enough to be polite. He was too low-ranking not to be polite. Then he was out, alone, for once his own master as the door closed behind him. The stone door merged with the cliff so well it would be impossible to see its outline unless one knew of it.

It was a clear night, out aboveground. The stars shone brightly, like diamonds in the high vault of a dark mine. Woodrot wondered briefly if they were diamonds, for what else could shine so bright? Even if they were precious jewels, thought, they were of no use to anyone, for there was no way to get to them, was there – so high was the vault of the sky…

But even as he thought of that, he saw one of the stars – falling. It left a trail of fire and tumbled down, somewhere behind the woods. The sky flared where it fell, and Woodrot heard, or imagined he heard, a sound like stone struck to pieces, even as he felt the slight tremor of the ground under his feet.  
A star had fallen, not far from here.

A diamond, shining with magic light, large enough to make the earth tremble.

Woodrot hurried towards where he had seen the sky flare. It was a longer treck that it had seemed, but the thought of treasure drove him forward. At last, well after midnight, he arrived to find the falling star had made a huge crater in the woodland. And in the middle…

At first he thought simply the light had died within the diamond. But as he walked across the crater's floor he saw the black stone in the middle was no diamond.

Just a stone. A boring-looking round lump of stone. Dissappointed and frustrated, Woodrot flung his spear at it – and then stood staring, rubbing his eyes to make sure they weren't playing tricks on him.

The spear's point held fast to the stone, defying gravity. Woodrot grabbed the shaft and pulled the weapon loose. There was some force fighting him, but he was stronger. He brought the point near the stone, and saw it pulled to cling to it again. As he bent down to study the stone closer, his metal wristguards stuck to the stone likewise.

Therefore, the spear wasn't to blame, Woodrot reasoned. This stone drew metal to it. And judging by the sound the spear made hitting it, there was some metal lode in the stone itself, too. It didn't matter to Woodrot how or why the stone acted like this, though. It was magic. It had come from the sky.

The king would be pleased to add a magic stone to his treasures. He would reward Woodrot with gold, enough to court any maiden, and probably a title too, mastersmith at the very least.

Woodrot stuck his spear under his arm and picked up the magic lodestone. But he hadn't taken many steps before he stumbled on his spear. He tried to carry it in a different position, but stumbled again. It simply wasn't possible to carry both the spear and the lodestone. So, he had to leave the spear behind – after all, he could make a new one easily.

Some instinct born of many nights of hunting told him one didn't abandon a good weapon without some small ceremony. So he cast the spear away from him in a long arc, and it stood on the ground right in the middle of the crater, on the very same spot the stone had occupied.

Woodrot grunted and picked up the lodestone again. He had a long way to walk, and he must hurry to be back before the dreadful sunrise.

He had done well tonight. Nobody would ever dare to make fun of him again.

**Epilogue**

Kerthan was following the tracks of a monster. Some unknown creature that walked on two feet had walked the woods last night. Tracan said it was a swordfoot, but Tracan was stupid. No swordfoot made tracks like these. Last night, a star had fallen. The Shaman said it was an omen. But he refused to tell Kerthan what he thought it was an omen of. Nobody ever told Kerthan anything.

His father was chief. Kerthan and Tracan were twins. But their father had never told the tribe, or anyone, which of them had been born first. He said his heir would be whichever of them first proved himself worthy. Because of that, Kerthan and Tracan had grown up to resent each other, to be rivals in everything. And the worst of it was, at the age of twelve, Tracan was bigger and stronger than him. Tracan lauged at him and his stories of monsters and demons.

Kerthan followed the monster's track to an open place, where the earth was turned, gaping open in a circular hollow. He made his way to the middle. There was a stick standing in the ground. He pulled it up.

A spear! And not any old stone spear either, but one with a sharper, sleeker point than any he had ever seen.

He brandished his new weapon proudly, and the sun made its point sparkle. Now he knew what the falling star had been an omen for. Kerthan was destined to be chief – this magic spear proved it! Maybe the Great Spirit had cast it from the sky for him to find.

He had done well today. Nobody would ever dare to make fun of him again.


End file.
